46th Century Vegas
by Anonymississippi
Summary: See title. The Doctor, Donna, and the Vegas trope, specifically, waking up there. M for paranoia.
1. Chapter 1

**It's amazing what you can churn out when you're avoiding work. My take on the Vegas trope, also because I need to work on my 'romantic' writing. M more so for paranoia, not a smut piece. Don't own. Belongs to Moffat, Davies, BBC...**

_Waking Up in Sagev Sal_

Donna awoke to a peculiar blue sheen in the poshest hotel suite she had set foot in since beginning her travels with the Doctor. That is, posh had some small tornado not torn through the opulent room, like a stampede of bulldozers in a transvestite's closet. Donna hefted herself onto an elbow, catching distorted glimpses of upended flower vases, spilt liquids, haphazard sofa cushions, half-eaten-now-partially-foul-smelling alien dishes, abandoned clothing, a ratted feather boa, and two crashed metal contraptions that could have been the space-age descendents of Earth's Segues. The warm, wooden walls were equal parts sleek and comfy, but the splatter of neon paint at various intervals along the paneling suggested someone had gotten a bit carried away with a rogue glow stick. Above her head was a mirrored ceiling that doubled as a television, now displaying some futuristic video of rave music, sung by what Donna considered to be the Hathian equivalent of that GaGa woman her younger cousin was always on about.

Donna smacked her lips, noticing the god-awful taste of cottonmouth one acquired after a successful night out. That might also explain the haziness and complete blank she had been drawing as she attempted to recall the past night's events. Her stomach produced a deafening roar, and no sooner had she placed a palm to her bare belly did a 'ping' issue from the penthouse elevator, followed promptly by a brisk knock on the suite door.

"Room service, breakfast order," she heard.

"Erm… urgah… 'um in."

A Zygon attendant in a red vest wheeled in a massive cart with several silver chafing dishes. He… or she? uncovered the dishes with a flourish, and the aroma of hot breakfast replaced the smell of yesterday's left-overs.

"Let me get that for you, 'mam," the Zygon said. He/she/it pointed something like a telly remote at the wasted snacks and they disappeared into the floor, displaced through technology Donna could not even begin to contemplate in her addled mental state.

She held the bedding about her chest with one hand and scratched the globby mascara clumps from her eyes with the other. Fumbling for the bedside table, she prayed the Doctor had sense enough to leave her with some cash to tip the attendant.

The Zygon seemed to understand her intention despite her lack of coordination.

"Already taken care of," he said, returning to the cart. "That's tea, coffee, something called a Bloody Mary (the drink, not the Earth sovereign), toast, a ham-cheese-and-veg omelet, banana crepes with banana crème, fruit salad sans pears, and, a special serving off the Roulette menu, half-baked Oroborus scones with raspberries and sultan filling, a flambé!" Another swooping arm gesture, and the still-baking dish ignited, Donna all the more alert for the flames in the bedroom.

"Ring the front desk when you've completed your ingestion cycle, and I'll be up to clear the room," he/she/it said, and professionally backpedaled out the hotel door.

Donna clutched her sticky, glitter-sprayed locks and pressed her eye sockets with the heels of her hands. She shook her head back and forth, bringing her arms down to reach for her Bloody Mary. Something on her hand tangled in her hair, and she found herself fighting with her matted mane to extract her finger. She froze when she saw what it was, mouth gaping, terrified to turn right and look across the room… across the other side of the bed. Turning right never went well for her. She looked quickly and huffed, because she knew what was coming:

It wasn't the amazing layout of the room: the entire right wall was a circular window, where schools of multicolored fish swam outside in the expanse of water in what must have been a submerged hotel suite, hence the blue sheen. She didn't notice some sort of cross between a squid and a rather enormous angler fish following a clump of algae; nor did she notice the plush leather couch, rounded on each end, with built-in electronic massagers and heated seating; she did not notice the mahogany bar, complete with automated bartender and a selection of alcohols spanning histories and planets: Rakki, Gralistan punch, Hypervodka, Guinness 4300. She did, however, notice the discarded six-pack of off-brand ginger beer on the floor, along with a rumpled pinstripe suit and a pair of trainers with the laces still tied, as if someone had wanted to get them off in a hurry. She also noticed (how could she not), the bright sapphire ring that had caught her hair, mocking her from the fourth finger of her left hand.

Lastly, she noticed the Doctor, bare-chested and sprawling across the other half of the bed. His nostrils whistled with every breath, ruffling the deep purple feathers of the boa snaked around his neck.

She braced herself for the draft and peeked under the bedding. Her worst fear: naked, hung over, a wedding ring, and in bed with an alien from another planet. She'd done a successful job thus far in her life of only accomplishing the former of the two actions; she'd never really considered the latter. Chancing a split-second view once more for confirmation, she groaned upon finding her bedmate in a similar nude state; though the view might have been longer than a split-second. No one could blame her; she wasn't exactly at her most logical this morning.

Donna reached for the soupy drink and accompanying celery stalk and took a walloping mouthful.

"Shit."

She threw the vegetable at the Doctor and chugged the hair of the dog.

Worst. Bet. Ever.

* * *

_Roughly 24 Earth hours earlier…_

"—which basically _proves_ that platypuses are alien beings from the minor planet Garkgüqetet, and will slowly migrate back when their home planet has been fumigated, just like the supposedly extinct Dodo birds."

"That's nice Doctor," Donna said, licking her thumb as she turned another page in her magazine.

"I never understood why there weren't more platypus exhibits in human zoos, fascinating creatures really."

"Uh hum…"

"What with mammalian egg-laying tendencies, the hidden poisonous barbs, and the fact that they're adorable as a pygmy Zarb, which is a separate type of semiaquatic water mammal humans will discover at an outpost in 12,890."

"Very nice." Donna flipped another page and crossed her legs on the jump seat.

The Doctor rolled himself out from under the control panel where he had been tinkering, quirking a head as he met the face of some Earth celebrity on the sleek cover of Donna's periodical.

"Are you even listening to me?"

"'Course I am."

"Then what was I talking about?"

"The platypus and its myriad positive qualities."

"Then what are you reading?"

"Spoilers for _Eastenders_. We've got one bloke in jail, and the one man who's mad at his brother that keeps visiting the ex-wife. He's got control issues, but can't interfere with the ex, so he's going to make his daughter break up with her boyfriend 'cause they're having sex underage."

The Doctor ignored her summary. "How can you listen to me and read that at the same time?" The Doctor knocked at her ankles with his feet, not wanting to compete for her attention with bolded typeface and photoshopped soap stars.

"It's called multitasking, Doctor. Which you seem to be very bad at." She indicated the console with her eyebrows. Something had started smoking, which was finally extinguished after a few minutes of the Doctor alternately spritzing various control panels with nonconductive gels and whacking the underside of the TARDIS controls with his handy mallet.

The Doctor emerged with a triumphant smile, expecting some sort of congratulations at having successfully quelled whatever fire might have erupted. Donna had flipped the magazine on its side, now doing the crossword. The Doctor walked over behind her.

"Twenty-two down is—"

"Shhhsh! I can do it myself," she said.

"I was only trying to help."

"You were _trying_ to show off."

"I don't call completing 21st century entertainment crosswords showing off."

Donna tucked her pen behind her ear and crossed her arms over her chest. "Oh, because they're not difficult enough for you? What would you call them?" She asked, daring him to insult her intelligence. "Pandering to us lower life-forms, is that it?"

"I— that is, I'd say they were… uhm… Look, I fixed the TARDIS!" he diverted, gesturing grandly to the now not-smoking ship.

"Bully for you, although I don't know why it keeps breaking in the first place. You've had this thing for what, a millennium?" She climbed up from the jumpseat and shut her periodical, facing a deflated Doctor. "What, are you sad?"

"No," he said childishly, shuffling across the console room.

"Yes you are!"

"No I'm not!"

"Then why are you pouting?"

The Doctor quickly sucked his lower lip back in. "I'm not," he said, keeping a level voice. He flicked a switch with a little more force than necessary. Donna leaned against the TARDIS railing, held back a chuckle; he was so like a kid sometimes.

"Awe, did the Doctor want a gold star for fixing the ouchie on his spaceship?"

"I hardly need recognition for performing a basic maintenance task."

"How 'bout you take the TARDIS, go back to thirty seconds ago, and tell that to yourself when you were pouting."

He opened his mouth, lost for a retort, and shut it again.

"Face it Doctor, you kinda like being the focus of everything."

The Doctor threw an incredulous look in her direction. "That makes me seem too self-centered."  
Donna nodded, pondering over his response. "Doctor, the TARDIS is isomorphic right? Like part of your self?"

"Yes," he said haughtily.

"And where are you standing?"

"In the…" he looked around the console room, Donna on the peripheral railing, himself in the middle near the controls. "… center," he conceded.

She did a brilliant little Donna Noble bow and retreated down the hallway.

He watched her walk away, smug sway in her gait, and stuffed his hands into his spatially expanded pockets. She walks that way on purpose, he silently asserted.

It's not that he wanted recognition… he had that. He was a god on at least seven planets, maybe more; he had been recorded in thousands, possibly hundreds of thousands of histories; he'd even been named king at one point, but kindly abdicated the throne to prevent a political coup among the amphibious inhabitants. Also because Donna wouldn't stop laughing at how his hair stuck out all cattywampus from underneath the coronet, and how he kept slip-sliding off the moist stone the natives called a throne.

He slumped into the jump seat where she had been and propped his feet on the console.

He had attention. It's not like he needed it from Donna, no sir, not like he had been trying to impress her and failing miserably with every consecutive attempt. Not like he had begun noticing things like her body, when, say, she crossed her arms over her chest, or when her hips swayed like Felspoon mountains as she sauntered about the TARDIS. Not like he wanted her to throw her arms around him; smile at him; be the one to present him with some sort of trophy if he ever happened to enter a local donkey race during the rainy season on Droopledi (because he knew the winner and the presenter were required to engage in public acts of affection, due to the sheer happenstance of presenter also doubling as the prize). Not that he would tell Donna that, because if she had known he had offered her up as a _prize_, he would probably be on his fifteenth regeneration by now, not to mention in for another scolding lecture on the woes of primitive patriarchal societies.

The Doctor smiled at the memory, though. The Droopledians wouldn't let them leave the winner's circle until she had kissed him, mud spattered face and all. She had ruffled his damp head, declared him Flirtimus Maximus to the crowd of Droopledians, and whacked the donkey on the behind, sending him and his steed hurtling back onto the mud hole of a course. It didn't matter that the beast had unseated him into the quagmire; Donna had feigned flight as he gathered her up in a muddied embrace, twirling her about as the rain began again, the Droopledians applauding the entire scene.

The Doctor stirred at the vibrations of her footsteps on the grated floor; he tilted his head back over the seat, observing Donna's return with a steaming mug of tea.

"How'd you know?" he asked, reaching for his own.

"How'd I know you needed tea?"

He nodded, sipping at his perfectly made cuppa.

"Whenever a bloke goes all contemplative, had his ego a bit bruised, tea helps. Like, some magic elixir that makes everything better."

"I wasn't all contemplative."

"Doctor…"

"Maybe a little bit," he said. "How do you know me so well?"

"I don't know if it's just you or men in general," she said, swooshing her hair over her shoulder.

The Doctor was not staring, no sir he was not.

"You are an extremely easy read, though."

"I beg your pardon!"

"What? You are! Facts is facts, Spaceman."

"I am NOT an easy read."

"Yes, you are."

"What am I thinking right now?" he said, waving his fingers around his head, bobbing back and forth.

"Stop that, you look ridiculous."

He had his hand raised, about to call her out for evading the question.

"—platypuses."

His hand fell heavily and he scrunched his face in thought. The cogs in his brain began to turn, and he snapped his fingers, pointing cheekily at Donna.

"Alright, how's this for an easy read?"

He started throwing some switches, rotating some knobs, shot her a challenging look as she braced herself against the railing. And no sir, he was not watching her torso shift, her legs spread, her arms extend as she tried to maintain balance; no sir, he was piloting the TARDIS, all the way to…

"Ha!" he yelled, mashing down a final lever to park.

"Where are we?" she asked.

"You tell me, since you know me so well."

She grinned and rushed to the doors, throwing them open to find a cavernous room, filled with light, sound, and hundreds of life forms, all milling about, drinking, dancing, and… gambling. Her jaw dropped in ecstatic surprise as she watched small hovercrafts pour drinks into the mouths of waiting revelers, sequined and feathered and slap-happy wasted.

"Donna Noble," the Doctor said, throwing an arm around her shoulder. "Welcome to Sagev Sal, intergalactic Vegas for the 46th century. I believe we have a date at the poker table."

They sauntered into the casino, bypassing something that looked like a unicorn on a leash, led by a showgirl with an actual peacock on her head. The Doctor felt Donna shudder excitedly under his grip.

No sir, he was not hoping she was going to have a few drinks, pull his tie with a perky glare, dance with him all night long. He was not hoping that he would get them both dolled up, dazzle her with his own slight-of-hand, showcase his fire-eating that he had picked up three centuries ago on his last visit here. He steered her towards a shopping centre, earning an instant squeeze around the middle from his well-attuned companion.

The Doctor knew he wasn't that easy to read. Or if he was, she was doing a marvelous job of ignoring that he definitely didn't want to be 'just mates' anymore.

**Reviews appreciated :)**


	2. Chapter 2

**Timey W****imey: After the flashback... Don't own. Never will. Enjoy!  
**

The_ Morning After_

"Hey! Doctor!" she yelled, throwing a pillow over the useless, snoring form beside her. Even that small physical exertion had her brain back at woozy, taking the roundabout to the intersection of Dizzy and Guilt-laden. Still no response from her usually alert companion. She grabbed a fistful of the purple boa and yanked, effectively cutting of all possible airflow to his trachea. The Doctor shifted, snuggling contentedly with the pillow she had just thrown his way. Damn him and that respiratory bypass!

"Space Cowboy, wake up!" she tried again, punching his arm. The beating continued, but that idiot of an alien wouldn't stir. "Doc-tor. Doc-tor! Ughh…"

Donna wrestled with one of the sheets on the massive bed, tugging until she landed gracelessly on the floor, wrapped up like a tortilla. She trudged across the room toward the bar, filling a large pitcher with water from the tap. He deserves this, she thought. Serves him right for bringing me to Space-Vegas, honestly, what did he think was going to happen—

She relished pouring the mini-waterfall over his face, enjoyed his sputtering reaction even more; that is, until he leapt out of the bed in surprise, completely starkers to her and a school of mutant tuna outside their window.

"Donna!"

"Doctor," she replied, chucking a pillow at his middle.

Donna watched as his slower-than-usual brain cells connected those embarrassing dots, taking in the state of the room, her sheet-clad, bare-shouldered form, the rumpled bedding at his left, and his obvious state of undress.

The Doctor blushed and maneuvered the duvet around him, pulling it over his head like a cocoon. He gulped audibly.

"That's right, you better be scared," Donna said, storming towards his dripping figure. He scrabbled across the mattress, the huge bed the lone obstacle between them.

"I didn't mean to… I, uh— must have got caught up in the—"

"No, no, NO! I don't want to hear it! _You _were supposed to be the sensible one!" she shouted, looking far more menacing than the tiger they had seen at the magic show the previous night. "Alcohol doesn't affect me Donna, nothing to worry about tonight Donna, enjoy yourself Donna—"

"I said _human_ alcohol doesn't really affect me—"

"Oh really?" she asked, retrieving an emptied can of ginger beer from the floor. "All signs point to _false_, Doctor!" She threw it across the bed and the Doctor dodged left, the duvet shifting into dangerously exposed territory. He yelped and readjusted, Donna's incredulous countenance boring into his features like a power drill. Nope, Donna thought; best not to think about body parts drilling.

"I haven't had it in a few regenerations, must have forgotten how potent it was..."

"Oh my god," Donna said dramatically, collapsing onto the mattress. "Am I gonna get pregnant?! Is some alien baby gonna rip its way out of my stomach?! They don't start off a different color, do they? 'Cause that's gonna be flippin' fabulous explaining that one to mum."

"P, p— puh… pregnant?" the Doctor stuttered.

"Yeah, Timeboy, what do you think?" she said, ire still high.

"We didn't… oh wait, yes…" he said, eyes tilted skyward, as if he were watching last night's actions play out on the mirrored ceiling.

Oh no, Donna thought. A freakin' _mirrored_ ceiling. With her luck there were probably cameras stationed around the suite.

She turned her head, using what little concentration she still had to skew her facial muscles into the most insulting expression she could muster.

"The evidence seems to support it, Spaceman. Don't worry, you apparently made an honest woman out of me," she said, thrusting her left hand up for the Doctor's perusal, the right hand too busy slapping herself upside the head. Through her fingers, she saw the Doctor slide down to the foot of the bed, ogling the blue stone on her hand. She sat up again, retying the sheet around her torso. For the love of an Ood, was he _looking?!_

"Oi! You, eyes!"

"What?" he asked innocently, averting his gaze to their preordered breakfast spread.

How could he be so nonchalant about this, Donna wondered. Not only had they blown the proverbial top off the town last night, but they had also taken part in the equivalent of an intergalactic Vegas chapel wedding; not to mention engaging in some seriously shagtastic action, if the bite marks on her arm were any indication. And the worst part was, _she couldn't remember any of it!_

"What are you doing?" she asked dryly.

"Getting breakfast," he said, spooning some fruit onto a plate. "And look! No pears!"

"How can you even think about eating at a time like this?!"

"Honestly," he said, vocal octave straying into a gravelly territory, "I'm _famished_."

As her jaw dropped his eyebrows rose, waggled suggestively, tables somehow turned with one sentence.

"But… but, you— we…"

"We had a little fun, what's wrong with that?" he said, stuffing his pie hole with a forkful of banana crème crepe. "And you're not gonna get pregnant," he continued, speaking as he chewed. "We used protection."

"What did… how… do you _remember_?"

"Uh hummm, quite vividly."

"Oh my god," Donna repeated, face flushing. She reluctantly stood from the bed, grabbed a plate, and speared the cheesy omelet with her fork. Nothing like comfort food to soak up the remaining regret. She tumbled down onto the plush couch beside the Doctor, who was munching contentedly on his crepes. The smug bastard had his feet propped on the coffee table, ankles swinging back and forth. Was he _humming_?

"Doctor, what the hell?" Donna said, gob smacked by his chipper attitude. "Why are you so cheerful?"

"I told you. I had a fun night."

"But I… we— Doctor, I can't remember anything."

"Too bad. To borrow one of your phrases, it was _wizard_."

She tentatively sipped her coffee, caffeine finally expunging that last lingering pain in her cranium.

"Doctor, earlier I sort of implied that we… That is, did we really…" spit it out, Donna. "Did we have sex?"

"Yes."

"And…?"

"And…? What?"

"What do you mean, 'and what?' Don't you have any, I don't know, _thoughts_ on the matter?"

"I wasn't exactly taking notes."

Donna responded with a deadpan.

"Are you asking me for a review? Pointers?"

She swung an open palm at his jaw, knocking the citrus-filled fork from his grip.

The Doctor grumbled and retrieved another from the serving cart.

"What's the harm?" the Doctor asked, still irkingly positive. "We got married, it's not like I sullied your reputation."

She cut her head toward him, mouth still gaping. Donna made a few inarticulate noises, still confused and sure she was dreaming, as this Doctor, her mate sitting across from her, could not be the same one she'd been living with for the past couple of years. After sidestepping that dreadful metacrisis incident, both getting over their respective losses, of people, memories, knowledge, they'd decided to keep up with their adventures, just like they always had. Mates, companions, roomies if you wanted to get really specific. But not once had they come close to anything so potentially paradigm-altering. Never something… carnal. Sure, flirting was fine. Hand-holding essential. Did she _want_ to get separated on some bizarre alien planet while sprinting for her life? Several lingering embraces, no big deal. Even a brief peck after some audacious escape, a slow-dance at a royal ball, loaded stares when they bid each other goodnight… Wait. Had she been _dating him_?

Donna followed the Doctor's gaze and flapping hand as he stared out the fish-bowl window, observing a few touristy scuba divers that waved as they passed by their room.

"Doctor! Can they see us?"

"Sure."

"I'm in a bed sheet!"

"And I'm in a duvet."

"No, I mean, can't we reinstate some… I don't know, a little propriety for pete's sake?"

"Sure, _now_ you're worried about propriety," he said, jamming a button on the side of the couch. "One-way filter. We can see out, they can't see in, better?"

"No, no, no… what did you mean 'now'?"

"You just didn't seem to mind last night."

"Might have been because I was _drunk off my ass_."

"Hmmm…" he mumbled thoughtfully. "Was that before the no-gravity magic show and after strip poker, or before the karaoke bar and after the edible bowling alley?"

"There was an edible bowling alley?!"

"With chocolate pins and cantaloupe bowling balls! I can show you, if you'd like," he said, jazz hands crowding her vision.

"How far gone was I at that point?"

"Not very. I hadn't even had anything then."

"Wait, if you got drunk, too, why are you not hung over?"

"Time Lord physiology. We metabolize so much faster than you humans. Skinny frame, superior biology," he said proudly. "I mean, technically, I drank close to double what you had, as it takes larger consumption volumes for Time Lords to delve into the realm of inebriation. But I can get over it in a jot, which also allows me to remember everything."

Donna bit her lower lip and cast him a guilty look. "Everything?"

"Everything," he nodded mischievously, and pointed to his neck. Hickey number one.

"Can this morning get any worse?" Donna asked.

"Of course it can!" he said, jumping up excitedly. "You've yet to see the wedding album!"

"Wedding album? For the love of—"

"Here it is!" he sing-songed, extracting a single picture printed on some futuristic cardstock from underneath the overturned Segue. "Don't even get me started on _those_," he said, indicating the motored two-wheelers. "We were evading security for at least an hour. Here," he said, presenting her with the photo.

It was not as bad as she expected. Aside from the holographic Elvis minister, she had taken worse photos. Though, of course, her face wasn't even turned toward the camera, as she was clutching the Doctor in a playful lip-lock, dragging his face down with that silly purple boa. Her glittered hair fell in waves over a scandalously short green dress, the Doctor leaning so far over her his top hat had nearly dislodged.

"It's not… that bad," Donna cringed, tossing it on the table.

"All in all, there have been worse nights. We didn't even have to run for our lives!" the Doctor said.

"Just you wait, you might be running if you keep this up," Donna threatened.

Donna cleared the rest of her dish in silence, pausing between aggressive bites to swallow the nearly a liter of coffee, which seemed to keep replenishing itself no matter how much she poured down her throat. Stupid HarryPotterVegasbreakfastzyg onmarriageDoctorsex—

"Might want to slow down there. Caffeine doesn't have the same effect, but I'd rather you not be bouncing off the coral all day," the Doctor chided.

"ME?! What about you, bopping about like some frenzied chimp! You once, _literally_, climbed the walls to change a light bulb that wasn't even broken!"

"It was flickering."

"So is my patience, _dear_," she said spitefully.

"Ooooh, do we get to exchange pet names now? I can't seem to decide between 'the little wife' or 'darling homemaker'."

"It's like you want me to murder you," Donna seethed, shifting on the couch, her bare leg perched on the table; the sheet split plummeted down her side, revealing an indecent amount of skin.

The Doctor noticed.

But, more importantly, Donna noticed the Doctor noticing. In fact, Donna was recalling the Doctor noticing multiple things. Notices that the Doctor noted notably, or possibly Nobly, that she had noticed, but then quickly discounted as her own imagination coupled with wishful thinking and the sheer fact that they were in Space-Vegas. It couldn't be that he was happy about this… Ooohhhh, Donna thought. The bet. He's still playing; well, she could, too.

Another turn.

"Spaceman?" Donna said lightly.

"Huh… hum?" the Doctor gargled, dragging his eyes from her deliciously bare flesh.

She tilted her head over the curve of the couch, a lazy smile on her face; she surreptitiously flipped the switch on the SmartCouch, initiating the seat warmers' sequence and the lightest massage setting. She sniggered inwardly when the Doctor missed his mouth with his fork, so captivated was his gaze.

"Watcha staring at?"

"I um…" he made a motion to reach for his collar, then, on the repeated realization that he wasn't wearing a shirt, he shifted the bulk of the duvet over his middle.

Donna's grin grew as she let her leg fall to the floor, the slit expanding all the way up her side but concealing just enough for Donna to have the upper hand as she maneuvered down the sofa.

"Doctor?"

"That is… you… we… You've, uhm, got some paint on your leg!" he said, pointing at her calf as if to accuse it of something. "It distracted me, is all."

"Yeeeeeah," she said, giving him a suggestive wink. "It was the paint."

"It was."

Something was stirring in Donna's head, something that went back to those earlier thoughts about lingering embraces and sultry dances and forced kisses by cultural custom the pair always seemed to be encountering on alien planets. Something that went back to their bet from the beginning of the previous day, before the drinking, dancing, gambling away a small country's revenue. He was always trying to show her up, with the brilliant brain of his. Why would he make a bet like that unless he wanted to follow it to its obvious conclusion? Which, as many would attest, would be a hasty marriage in a wedding chapel (of course with Elvis, even if he was a 46th century hologram), and a night of raucous boinking in the most expensive hotel suite available. She was just as guilty as he was, and fully ready to play the game, which she thought she had made painfully clear yesterday. Had her Spaceman intended this to happen? What could explain that imperturbable, self-satisfied air he'd assumed all morning? He had to still be going with the bet. She'd gotten the better of him yesterday; he was only returning the favor. He wasn't _really_ this light-hearted about the mad situation. Well, Donna Noble would not be shown up.

She was going to torture him.

"Doctooooor," Donna drawled, moving closer to him on the sofa. "I think we've got a little problem." She snatched the plate from his hands and laid it on the cart, positioning herself between his body and the couch arm. Donna felt the heat from the seat cushions against her bare knees, the soft undulations of the massage rolling against the miniscule barrier of the sheet. She attempted her most innocent face… until she started toying with the hair at the nape of his neck with one hand. "It's all your fault, anyway." She held his look for a moment, and leisurely, purposefully, licked her lips, then began sucking the red spot on his neck.

"We never…" lick, "came to a decision," suck, "as to who won," she said. "The bet you proposed."

Nuzzling her way up to his ear, she bit down on his earlobe, purred as she skimmed a fingernail over his chest. Donna rippled her body in syncopated rhythm with the stirring couch, wedging the Doctor against the plush leather armrest. His skin was normally much cooler. Was it her touch or the altered temperature setting that made his chest so warm?

"Donna?" the Doctor squeaked, tensing as she placed a hand over his cotton-covered thigh. "I thought this was just—"

"You thought wrong," she growled, hitching a knee over his lowered body. "All bets are off except the original, which I fully intend to win."

"I just thought you'd like Sagev Sal…" he whimpered, voice cracking as she trailed kisses down his chest. "I never meant for it to get so… not that I _mind_, exactly… but, ummm… we're getting so, so… Eyes of Harmony, Donna!" he said through gritted teeth, straining as he worked to dislodge himself from the arm of the couch and Donna's all-too-heady touch. He began shuffling about the futuristic room, tripping over the untidy obstacles, sliding end tables and breakfast carts and bar stools between his wandering self and the pursuing Donna. He wrapped the trailing duvet even tighter around his waist.

"I was only having a laugh earlier, that is, this morning earlier, not last night, as I honestly was inebriated, and you were, too! Not that either of us are to blame! I swear I didn't take advantage, not really, and I never would have done anything you weren't okay with, because I lo— I mean, we're both adults, you know. I'm a human adult nearly thirteen times over, well, twelve-point-five if you'd like to wager average human life expectancy at eighty years, which is a somewhat high international average, considering—"

"Doctor?"

"Hmm?"

"You've got some banana crème on your lip."

"What?"

"Lemme." Donna vaulted over an upset flower arrangement and grabbed the Doctor's sides. Her hands slithered under the material of the duvet and curled over his abdomen, her quirked lips lifting to rub the crème away from just underneath his nose.

"Got it," she whispered.

"No, I think you missed a spot," he said, dipping his face down to her again.

What? Wait, no… Donna didn't think he was supposed to be _enjoying_ this. Even if she was having a bit of fun stroking his cheek, or nipping his lip, or guiding his too-respectful hand to her bum for a firm clench, _he_ was the one who didn't have a reason. She needed some blackmail ammo to add to her arsenal of _Things to Bring Up When Donna's Pissed at the Doctor_. She could chock all her actions up to the hangover and the bet; he had a clear head, which opened him up for merciless taunting.

As if on cue, the Doctor extracted himself from her grip and ran a frustrated hand through his hair.

"What's wrong, Spaceman? Second thoughts?"

"Donna, I… you… we need to stop before things take a left turn."

"Oh, I like left turns."

"Inebriation is one thing, but if we're not on the same page here—"

"Don't worry Doctor," Donna said, grinning. "Just admit that I win and we'll be square." She tossed her head back and giggled, the Doctor standing dumbstruck in front of the sea-through window.

"That you win?" he asked in confusion. "Win what?"

"The bet, you idiot," she said. "Don't think I don't know what all this was," she continued waving a hand between them. "All puffed up earlier, thinking you'd won your little challenge, Mr. Mighty Time Lord. I've got your number," she wagged a finger at him in sport.

"I'm sorry, but I seem to have lost the thought train."

"Don't you play dumb with me, it's insulting."

"It's unintentional, because I have no idea what you're on about."

"Look, I might not remember much of last night, or yesterday evening, or afternoon for that matter; but when we got off the TARDIS, you bet you could do Vegas better than me. Remember?"

"Yeah, but that wasn't—"

"I would say that one night of reckless partying, gambling, copious amounts of alcohol, a sham marriage and some down-and-dirty debauchery makes for one hell of a Vegas adventure. And I'll give you all of that; you kept up with me, step for step. But," she continued, stabbing a finger into his pectoral, "you've succumbed to the Vegas let down. You regret it. First one to pull back, get off the bus, no second round. Admittedly, I was a little hazy when I first woke up. But now that I'm in full control of my faculties, I refuse to concede!" she tramped back over to the bed and plopped herself down on the mattress. "What with all the 'I'm famished' and 'It was just a bit of fun, Donna', well, I can do that, too. Just admit your defeat at the hands of Vegas-regret, we'll add another tally to my side of the chart, and we're off to get intergalactic divorced," she said cheerily.

"I don't think I can do that, Donna."

"Why not? We can't very well get it annulled, seeing as we—"

"No; I can't admit defeat."

"Now you're just being stubborn. Do I have to drink you under the table again tonight?"

"Donna, I can't admit defeat because I don't regret it. Any of it."

All of a sudden, Donna felt extremely exposed. She hugged the sheet tighter about her body, double-folded it in places.

"What… you, you said you were having a laugh. We weren't… It was a game, right?"

"Perhaps initially."

"Now I don't get it. I went all out because it's flippin' _Vegas_, and that's what you _do_ here! What happens here stays here, we don't have to take it all back to the TARDIS. I can't even remember it!"

"I'll never forget it."

"What do you mean?" she asked with dubious hostility. Donna folded her arms over her chest and quirked an eyebrow, vocalizing a list: "You mean to tell me you don't regret getting trashed, then hitched by a vicar who wasn't actually there, and then going at it all night?"

"A little, not in a million years and… hell no," the Doctor said, inching closer until he stood before her at the bedside. "You can't win the bet because I don't regret what we did. I would do it all over in two heartbeats, and we can, because I have a time machine," he said, smiling shyly. "Do you get it Donna?"

She thought she did, as her heart had suddenly matched the pace of a derby racehorse.

He took her ring finger and rotated the shining blue stone into place, kissing the back of her hand in reassurance.

"I regret nothing."

**Reviews Appreciate :D**


	3. Chapter 3

**Just experimenting with nonlinear narrative. Back to when they first stepped off the TARDIS. Don't own it, never will, yada yada, Moffat BBC Davies... Enjoy!  
**

_The Bet_

"I bet I can do Sagev Sal better than you."

"What?"

"Vegas," the Doctor corrected. "I bet I can do Vegas better than you."

Donna snorted, nearly bumping into a small orange alien with blue body paint and tattoos that faded in and out of pigmented skin. She couldn't tell if the effect was natural or something one could have done at a space age tattoo parlor.

"I doubt it Spaceman," Donna said, pulling him into a department store with clothes tailored for humanoid shoppers. "Do you know how long I've wanted to go to Vegas? I've been training my whole life, and this is my Olympics. You couldn't hang if you wanted to."

"Then take the bet," the Doctor said teasingly.

"Excuse me?" she said, analyzing a sequiny skirt.

"You think you're so well-equipped for a party, prove me wrong."

"I do daily, Doctor," she jibed with a smile, tossing the skirt aside.

"Then take the bet. I, the Doctor, bet I can out-Vegas you, Donna Noble."

Donna skipped over to him and produced a top hat from behind her back, shoving it onto his head.

"It seems a bit subjective. How will we know who won?"

"We'll just have to see how far we're willing to go. I'm familiar with earth customs, I know what's expected."

"Well then," she said, coyly placing a hand on his sleeve. "If you're playing high stakes you've got to be willing to go in… _all in_ Doctor," she said quietly, eyes downcast, tone redolent. "You know me, I love a good game. And I don't like cashing out before I absolutely have to. Are you sure you can keep up?" she asked, sidling a bit closer.

"Try to stop me," he said, removing the hat from his head and placing it atop her own. She was the ringmaster, directing the acts at this intergalactic circus. He only hoped he wasn't walking the high wire without a safety net underneath. "Planet of the Hats, next stop," he promised.

"Only if you survive Vegas first, Doctor. What do we get if we win?"

The Doctor brought a forefinger to his chin, resembling a 'thinking' pose. "The satisfaction of beating the other person?"

"I'll think on that. It takes quite a lot to keep me _satisfied_," Donna said. "Although, maybe we should just wager one undisclosed favor for the time being."

"Fair enough," the Doctor said. "Shake on it?" he extended his hand.

"Sure." She took his palm and gave it a hearty squeeze, then pulled him further into the store. "But first thing's first! You're buying me an uber-fancy Vegas outfit!"

Twenty minutes later, Donna emerged from the dressing room in an emerald green number, shorter than she usually wore but fitted appropriately for an hourglass. She strutted out into the waiting area where she'd left the Doctor, but he was already at the counter inserting cash into the automated till to pay for her outfit. With him distracted, she aimed for the salon in the back of the store that doubled as a make-up bar. With the speed and efficiency one might imagine a 46th century cosmetics laboratory to possess, she emerged just five minutes later with war paint on and prepared for battle: hair wavy, eyes smoky, heels strappy.

"Donna!" the Doctor called into the dressing room. "Let's go! I've just found this fascinating dance club that alters the dancing floor blocks by registering your internal temperature. I don't fancy the rave moshing nonsense, but we could still give it a go. Or would you rather a piano bar? More my style really, and they play the classics from the resurgent crooning age of the 32nd century. That'd be before we hit the Black Jack and Red Queen tables. Are you familiar with Red Queen gambling? It was created post-21st century, but it's quite easy to play, I can explain it to y— whoa."

The Doctor caught Donna's reflection in the display mirror as she leaned against the doorjamb of the dressing room entrance, one high-heeled foot crossed over the other.

"Yeah, not too shabby, huh?" she said, as the Doctor turned around, slack jawed. "Close your mouth Doctor, plenty of alien insects might flutter right in. You didn't want to get all fancy Vegas dressed?"

"Not really my thing. But you look beau— great, really great Donna."

"You've got to wear something!" she bit her ruby lip in thought. "Aaahh, perfect!" she snagged the top hat from the same rack they'd approached upon entering the store.

She slipped her arm into his proffered elbow, and together they struck out onto the blinking strip. Hovering limos zoomed by, street performers juggled _other_ performers, flames crawled, water sprinkled, and multiple vendors offered free shots to the carousing street folk.

The Doctor disengaged from Donna's arm and returned with two shots of some purple liquid, salt rimmed and lime in hand.

"Tequila?" she queried.

"Close enough."

He passed the shot glass over, saluted her with his own.

Donna narrowed her darkened eyes, the twilight silhouetting her form against the charged cityscape.

"You sure about this Doctor? Still time to back out," she said, raising her glass.

Was he sure? He wasn't going to get them into any trouble, at least, not intentionally. He'd never be careless, wouldn't put her in danger. But a night with no rules? This could be his chance. Go big or stay in one century, as the Time Lords say.

"Never. Bring it on Earthgirl."

They tapped glasses and threw the shot back, swallowing the sizzling liquid. Donna made a grabbing motion for the fruit slice, face puckered from the unfamiliar alcohol.

"Lime, Doctor."

The Doctor presented two empty hands and shrugged his shoulders.

Donna grimaced, starting for the vender to pilfer another citrus chaser. The Doctor grabbed her wrist, shook his head and then pointed toward his mouth, the lime perched between his teeth.

Her eyebrows disappeared into her fringe as she eyed the Doctor skeptically. What happens in Vegas…

She pulled him down, brushing lips against his own as she bit into the pulp of the lime.

And so it begins…

* * *

_Back to the Morning After: Cashing In_

"I don't know what to say exactly. I'm still not quite on my A-game," Donna said in response to the Doctor's confession. She turned from him to stare out into the ocean, inhaling sharply when a small whale passed the window.

"We're actually on the top floor," the Doctor said. "This entire casino is underwater. You said you thought it would be cool to be the goldfish for once. He's just surfacing for air."

She nodded, unsure about facing him.

"Look, Donna, I really didn't mean for it to go this far. I just wanted us to have a little fun without running for our lives for once."

"I can understand that, really."

"But it sort of spiraled, and, well. We certainly lived up to the Vegas hype." He shoved his own hand under her nose, a matching wedding band encircling his ring finger. "But maybe we should, you know, go get this resolved," he said, reaching for his trousers. "That is, if you're still keen."

"Keen on what? I'm still clueless about the entire escapade!" her cheeks flushed, but she kept her head turned from him.

He crossed to kneel before her, now covered with trousers but still bare-chested. She flushed even more when she saw some nail tracks over his shoulder blades.

"Did I make a fool out of myself?" she asked quietly.

"What? No, how do you mean?"

"I just get really flirty when I'm drunk. I didn't mean to throw myself at you; I'm so sorry." Donna cradled her head in her hands, still fearful of looking him in the eye. Too much accusation there. She really had no idea what his peculiar confession from earlier meant.

"No, Donna; it takes two parties to get into something like we did. Two willing parties. I'm as much to blame as you are. But maybe we could consider, I mean, seeing as we're married and all…" the Doctor curled his fingers around the back of her knee with one hand, lifted her chin with the other. "Maybe we aren't mates anymore."

And there it was. The bombshell. Another instance where sex seriously screws up friendship. They'd be off to burn the marriage certificate and she'd be back at a dead-end job in Chiswick, all because she got a little promiscuous when she had multiple shots of Kronka.

"But, but… but I, I don't want to leave!" she said, desperation on the edge of her voice.

"Leave?! Who said anything about leaving?" he asked, brushing her hair from her face.

"You did! Just now! We're going to go get space divorced and you're taking me home. No more traveling. No more 'mates'."

"Donna, no… you've got it backwards. I—" he tilted his head back, rubbed his eyes, and admitted what he'd been fighting with himself over for several months now. "I meant, now that we're sort-of married, maybe we don't have to be 'just mates'. Maybe we can keep traveling and see where… see where this goes. Where _we_ go… Donna, I… I'm all in."

And before she could process _that_ statement he had his hands on her face, pulling her down into their first non-manipulative, non-drunk, and non-one-of-them-might-be-dying kisses. It was quick, questioning, and the Doctor pulled back to gauge her reaction.

Donna's eyes went cloudy, but he didn't receive a sharp slap to fend him off. He leaned in slowly again, nuzzling her nose as he found her mouth once more. The Doctor prodded her stiff lips with his tongue and she gradually opened to him, hands migrating from his bare shoulder to his cheeks. She sucked greedily on his bottom lip, still saturated with syrup and banana. Changing angles, they met again less tentatively, and Donna moaned softly when his cool hand found the split in the sheet, fingers splayed and pressing the curve of her waist. During their feverish contact, the sheet lost its tie and Donna was quickly rendered topless. The Doctor guided her back on the mattress in one languid motion, nipping at a particularly sensitive spot on her neck. Even if she couldn't remember last night, she might have another chance at reliving it; unless that was the sonic screwdriver is his trouser pocket. When he brought a hand to cup her breast she stilled, then unconsciously arched into him.

As his skilled hands began to knead flesh, Donna had one of those stupid, uncalled for 'adult' moments; they always came at the worst times.

"Doctor," she breathed, kissing his forehead. He returned to her mouth and she reciprocated kindly, but nudged him ever so slightly, her bodily signal for pause.

"What?" he panted, pupils huge and glassy. He straightened his elbows, hovering over her.

It made her not want to stop. Donna wanted him, and this, and she wanted to remember it. But she also wanted it to last, and maybe Vegas wasn't the best place for something like this to start.

"I'm in, all in, too. Well, obviously," she said, gently tugging his head with a smile. "But maybe it's moving a bit fast."

"You may have a point."

"Yeah; you doesn't traditionally get married to someone before you go on a first date."

"When have we ever been traditional? I seem to recall placing something on your ring finger the first time we met."

"Doesn't mean we shouldn't be careful. I mean, we're best friends and I love that, and this has the potential to be—"

"Wonderful," he breathed, glancing at her shimmering form.

Her whole body reddened this time, and she averted her eyes. "I was going to say 'pretty great', but yeah, wonderful will work, too. And as much as I hate to do this…" she patted gingerly at his chest, wriggling out from under him. She grabbed the sheet and draped it around her. "Perhaps I should go get dressed. There's plenty of stuff to do during the daytime here, too. Did we pass a go-kart track on the way to the department store yesterday?"

"They were hover-crafts, but same basic principle."

She dipped into the bathroom but kept talking.

"And what about the zoo? Any gigantic platypuses around?"

The Doctor retrieved his rumpled shirt from the ground, buttoned it, and began the search for his tie.

"Not now, but give it a few years and you never know."

Donna emerged, fully clothed and hair detangled. "Spaceman," she said, grabbing his hand as she pulled him to the door. "I'm not saying that we can't… that is, that we won't… well." She stood on tiptoes and gave him another good kiss, teasing tongues and nibbling teeth.

"Maybe we just don't have to get divorced right away," he offered.

"Exactly. We can just take it slow, let it play out. Like I said, you're stuck with me for forever. I just hope I didn't completely make an arse of myself last night."

"If you really want to know, I could show you," he offered again, raising a hand to her forehead. "You remember; the alcohol just chemically depresses those memories to the subconscious. I can manipulate the barrier. And then…" he smirked. "Maybe you won't want to take things too slowly."

"Awful confident with yourself, you and that big head of yours."

"Weeeeell, you know what they say about blokes with big heads."

"That they never shut up."

"No. That they have an eidetic memory concerning their partner's erogenous zones and orgasmic pressure points."

And he unlocked some select barriers from their adventure the previous night. Specifically, one in which Donna's back was covered in neon after some pretty provocative dancing at a black light nightclub, and then once they got back to the room.

She stared at the splotches of neon paint on the walls, all about her height, at one, two, three, different places around the room. Quick flashes of herself pinioned against the walls, hair askew, sweating, heaving, the Doctor supporting her as well as a number of other things…

"Yeah, three," he growled, and her knees went a bit weak. He caught her round the waist and walked her toward the door. "Like déjà vu."

"Were you—"

"Standing the whole time? Of course. I run for my life daily, stamina comes natural. That was before we even made it to the bed."

Donna's jaw dropped again, but the Doctor gave her some breathing room.

"So, hover-craft go-karts?" he asked, one hand proffered as he opened the hotel door.

"Sure," she murmured, taking it in her own as they waited on the elevator. "Then again, maybe we should keep the room for one more night. You never know if Space-Vegas is going to be taken over by invaders, and then we're not there to save it."

"Yeah, always gotta keep Vegas safe."

The doors slid shut on the smiling pair as they agreed on one more night.

The End.

**Reviews Appreciated. Or send me gambling chips. Hope you liked this one!**


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